


Clint Barton makes Questionable Life Decisions (but Maybe This Isn't One of Them)

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fraction!Clint, M/M, MCU!Sitwell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraction!Clint meets MCU!Sitwell in one of those ways that proves and disproves Clint is a grown-up. Also, 616!Sitwell is alive and well. Enjoy! (No spoilers for Hawkeye #13)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clint Barton makes Questionable Life Decisions (but Maybe This Isn't One of Them)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HugeAlienPie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeAlienPie/gifts).



> This was a dare. Came out pretty well, I think.

_Okay, this looks bad._

Pretty sure waking up naked with a blank spot on my memory isn’t going to help convince anyone I really am trying to be a full-grown adult.

And chances of being taken seriously have tanked further as I realize there is someone in bed with me. Well. This is great.

“Coffee?”

Look at him, Clint. Look at the guy you obviously banged last night because there’s a condom wrapper on the nightstand, and the bedroom smells like lube, and be a man.

Be a man.

Be a Kate. What would Katie-Kate do (besides hand me my ass for using her as a role model when she’s pretty noticeably younger than me)?

“In the kitchen. Pot should have clicked on automatically.”

“Great.”

All right, still haven’t looked at his face, but the back of him is pretty nice. Completely bald, smooth skin, cute butt. Not bad for a blind drunk one-night stand.

Man, if Bobbie finds out I went out drinking-and-fucking, she’s gonna kick my ass.

I am never telling Jess about this. Even if we do get to the point where we can talk about stuff like this again.

I should send her apology flowers. 

I should not send her apology flowers.

I should probably try to talk to her like we’re responsible adults.

I’m gonna text Tasha. She’ll know what to do.

_Naked man in my bed. Don’t remember bringing him home. He’s drinking my coffee._

Find your underwear and man up.

Okay, that’s not terrible advice. Underwear. Where are my underwear.

“I’ve already seen you naked!” Mysterious Man yells up the stairs. “Don’t get decent on my account!”

That’s a fair point.

“You have dog dishes. Am I gonna get mauled?”

“No, he’s—”

Stolen.

Dead [What the hell is wrong with me; Kate wouldn’t ever let that happen.]

On loan.

“He’s on loan.”

“That’s a weird way to say he’s not here.”

I walk down the stairs wondering if I should say something else. It’s weird to be naked in my own place, so used to someone popping in, to Kate…

She sent a postcard from California. All it said was:

_You’re not a complete dumbass, but I can’t be around you for awhile. Lucky’s good._

Can’t say I fault her logic. Not the smartest thing, getting blind drunk a week after she left and picking up some guy.

Who wears glasses, apparently, and has nice eyes. And looks sort of weirdly familiar. “Do I know you?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Barton, this is why you suck.

Except he’s smiling at me like he knows a joke that I should have the punchline to. “We’ve met a few times,” he says.

Shit. Um. Okay. I can do this. Good looking guy with no hair and glasses, nice arms, toned body, really nice di—

“If you’re gonna stare at it, you can at least say good morning.”

And busted.

“Um. Yeah. Good morning, guy-who-is-actually-getting-vaguely-familiar.”

He is, though I still can’t place him. Maybe picture him not-naked, Barton. Maybe that would help.

He pours me a cup of coffee while I paper doll him into jeans and a tee, then slacks and a polo shirt, then a super flashy suit, then a non-flashy suit—

“Aww, crap, you work at SHIELD.”

“Give the man a prize,” he mutters into his coffee. He takes a drink, and okay, he’s got a pretty good throat going. “Any chance you remember my name, drunk ass?”

I take a drink of my own coffee, watch him look me over, raise my eyebrows when he lingers below the waist too. Ha. Not the only pervert in the room, then.

He raises his eyebrows in return, and okay, yeah, very attractive when he does that. That definitely—

“Oh holy crap, you’re Sitwell. Not Sitwell-Sitwell, second Sitwell, or Sitwell the second or Jr. or something.”

He laughs. “Sitwell two, since my fucking cousin beat me into the academy by six months and SHIELD’s not great at nicknames.”

“But you’re both Jasper, right?”

That doesn’t sound right.

That sounds dumb as hell.

“Yeah. My mom and Jay’s mom got into a fight about who got it, then went passive-aggressive on a goddamn nuclear scale and named as the same name anyway.”

“Oh. Okay. Um.”

My coffee’s empty. He’s still naked and looking down to wipe up coffee he’s spilled on the counter pouring his second cup, and I am pretty sure at this point I am the little black dress of SHIELD inter-office romance. “So, you seem cool.”

Smooth.

“I’m pretty all right,” He puts down the rag and his mug and stretches, and okay, yeah, that’s attractive. He catches me looking and grins. “I got nowhere to be for a few hours. Your bed’s not a complete piece of shit. You wanna?”

I want it noted for the record I did not drop my coffee cup. I put it on the counter like an adult, and I grabbed at Sitwell two like an adult, and I dragged him up the stairs, like an adult, and we had sex. Like adults.

Like reasonable, responsible, rational adults.

“What’d we even do last night?” I ask while he feels me up (like an adult).

“I was shitfaced blind; make it up, I’ll back it.”

“All right.”

 

**Many, many, non-hawkblocked minutes later (except, you know, for this sentence, which is totally acting as the hawkblock):**

Okay, that was awesome.

“Wow, what an inane response to my hot manliness.”

Yeah. Said that out loud.

“Heh, you blush all over.” Sitwell two rolls towards me and traces some weird little design next to my nipple. It’s pretty great.

“Um.”

What would Kate do? WWKD? What would Kate the Great do?

(Pancakes?)

“Pancakes?”

“Can you actually make pancakes?”

I laugh. “God, no. I sorta survive on pizza and arrows.”

“Man, you must love arrows.”

“All the fiber I need.”

And awkward silence. I think.

Maybe?

Sitwell two’s looking at me like I’m funny. “Great pancake place about four blocks away,” he says. “Homemade syrup, even. None of that oversugared blueberry shit.”

“I like the oversugared blueberry shit.”

“Man, am I glad you suck dick like a champ, or I’d have to not call you tomorrow just for that.”

I—what. Did he…

“Tomorrow?”

“Unless you don’t want a call tomorrow.” Sitwell two shrugs. “I mean, you seem all right. Bobbie’s said nice things—”

“OH GOD YOU’VE WORKED WITH BOBBIE.”

“Chill. She never mentioned your dick sucking skills.”

There were nights involving a strap-on.

Don’t say that out loud, Barton.

Don’t say that out loud, Barton.

“…great.”

Sitwell two leans over and grins. Our noses are almost touching. Do I kiss him?

“You are wound tight as shit.”

“I’m an archer.”

Dumbass.

“That is the worst comeback,” Sitwell two says. He grabs my hair and tugs a little bit, and yeah, that’s the good stuff. “So, pancakes down the street, I tell your ex wife I fucked you through the mattress. She and I high-five, and then I call you tomorrow.”

Bobbie would not—

“Yeah,” I agree. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

 


End file.
